Annie o' the Banks o' Dee
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Norman had not only a body of fearful physical strength, but a winning and persuasive tongue, and he wheedled over no less than three Englishmen, or rather Scotsmen, to join his forces.
Late one night a half-whispered conversation was held near to the winch. The Finn had been here before – that is, up in the South Pacific – and he could guide them to an island of gold. And what was it that gold could not purchase in this world? he added. “Everyone of you shall be wealthy. We shall then scrape the vessel from stem to stern, alter her name and rigging, and after loading up with gold, sail for distant Australia. There we shall sell the ship and, going to the diggings for a time, to avoid suspicion, will in a few months return to Sidney or Melbourne as lucky miners. Then hurrah for home!”
“We will join,” said the Scotsman, “on one condition.”
“And that is?”
“There must be no murder.”
“Your request is granted. We will rise suddenly, batten down the men below, then rushing aft we shall secure the officers in the saloon. The vessel will then be ours. But we shall maroon the men on the nearest land, with biscuits and a few arms. The women will be best on board,” he grinned.
“Bah!” said a Spaniard, drawing his ugly knife. “Let us throat them. Dead men tell no tales, you know. Take my advice.”
But the marooning was finally decided on, and the mutineers retired to their bunks or to their duty.
Little did they know that the cabin-boy, with listening ears, though almost frightened out of his life, was hiding behind the winch and had heard every word they had said.
As soon as it was possible he escaped, and going at once aft, he reported in a frightened whisper all the details of the terrible plot.
“Horrible!” said Dickson.
“Strikes me,” said Hall, “that there must be a Jonah on board, or a murderer. Let us draw for him, putting all names in a hat, and then lynch the fellow!”
“If,” said Dickson, “there be a murderer on board, the fellow is that Finn.”
“Seize the scoundrel at once, then,” cried Hall, “and throw him to the sharks or put him in irons.”
“No, I’ll wait, and Williams shall be our spy.”
Nearly all the mutineers were in the same watch, only one good man and true being among them. Norman played his game well. He knew that if suspected at all, they would be watched by night, so he chose broad daylight for the awful dénouement. While the men were below at dinner, those in the cabin all having luncheon, then Norman suddenly gave the preconcerted signal.
The hatches were thrown on in a moment, and screwed down by two men, while the main band rushed aft and secured the saloon door.
“If you value your lives in there,” savagely shouted the Finn down through the skylight, as that too was being fastened securely down, “you’ll keep quiet.”
Hall had both his revolvers out in a trice, and fired; but the skylights were closed, and no harm or good was done.
Next the mutineers threw open the fore-hatch, and at pistol point ordered every man into the half-deck cabin abaft the galley and abaft the sailors’ sleeping bunks.
“I’ll shoot the first man dead,” cried Norman, “who does not look active!”
The communication door was then secured, and all was deemed safe. They would bear north now, and make for the nearest island.
The rum store was near the foot of the stair, or companion, and close to the stewardess’s pantry. The key hung there, so more than a gallon of rum was got up and taken forward.
The engineers were told that if they did not crack on, they would be had on deck and made to walk the plank.
The Finn had not meant that any orgie should take place; but take place it did, and a fearful one too. The man at the wheel kept on for fear of death, and so did the engineers.
By twelve o’clock, or eight bells, in the first watch, the fellows were helplessly drunk and lying about in the galley in all directions.
Little Williams, the cabin-boy, had been overlooked. Wise he was indeed, for now he very quietly hauled on the fore-hatch – ay, and screwed it down. Then he went quickly aft and succeeded in releasing the officers. The men were next set free, and the door between secured aft.
In ten minutes’ time every mutineer in the ship was in irons. Surely no mutiny was ever before quelled in so speedy and bloodless a manner!
“I knew,” said Hall, “that we had a Jonah on board, and that Jonah is the double-dyed villain Christian Norman. Say, Captain Dickson, is it going to be a hanging match?”
“I am almost tempted to hang the ringleader,” replied Dickson, “but this would be far too tragical, especially with ladies on board. Remember that, be his heart what it may, there is just one little good spot in his character. He dearly loved little Matty, and she loved him.”
“Well, sir, what are you going to do about it? I’d like to know that.”
“This. I cannot pardon any single one of these villains. The Scotsmen, indeed, are worse in a manner of speaking than the Finns or cowardly Spaniards. I shall mete out to them the same punishment, though in a lesser degree, that they would have meted out to us. Not on the inhospitable snow-clad shores of the Tierra del Fuego islands shall they be placed, but on the most solitary isle I can find in some of the South Pacific groups.”
Now things went on more pleasantly for a time. The prisoners were not only in leg-irons, but manacled, and with sentries placed over them watch and watch by night and by day. These men had orders to shoot at once any man who made the slightest attempt to escape.
It was about a week after this, the Wolverine had safely rounded the stormy Cape, and was now in the broad Pacific. A sailor of the name of Robertson had just gone on sentry, when, without a word of warning, Norman the Finn suddenly raised himself to his feet and felled him with his manacled hands. The strength of the fellow was enormous. But the ring of a rifle was heard next minute, and Norman fell on his face, shot through the heart.
He was thrown overboard that same evening with scant ceremony.
“I feel happier now,” said Hall, “that even our Jonah is no more. Now shall our voyage be more lucky and pleasant.”
Ah! but was it?
The Wolverine was purposely kept well out of the ordinary track of ships coming or going from either China or Australia. And luck or not luck, after ten days’ steaming westward and north, they sighted an island unknown to the navigator, unknown to any chart. It was small, but cocoa-nuts waved from the summit of its lofty hills.
Here, at all events, there must be fruit in abundance, with probably edible rodents, and fish in the sea. And here the mutineers were marooned. Not without fishing gear were they left, nor without a small supply of biscuits, and just three fowling pieces and ammunition, with some axes and carpenter’s tools.
They deserved a worse fate, but Dickson was kind at heart.
Well, at any rate, they pass out of our story. On that island they probably are until this day.
Everyone on the Wolverine seemed to breathe more freely now, and the vessel was once more headed eastwards to regain her direct route to California and San Francisco.
For a whole week the breeze blew so pleasantly and steadily that fires were bunked and all sail set. The very ship herself seemed to have regained cheerfulness and confidence, and to go dancing over the sunlit sea, under her white wing-like studding sails, as if she were of a verity a thing of life. Those on board soon forgot all their trials and misery. The mutineers were themselves forgotten. Matty and Oscar (who had recovered from his spear wound) resumed their romps on deck, and surely never did sea-going yacht look more snug and clean than did the Wolverine at this time.
She was still far out of the usual track of ships, however, though now bearing more to the nor’ard. So far north were they, indeed, that the twilight at morn or even was very short indeed. In the tropics, it is not figurative language, but fact, to say that, the red sun seemed to leap from behind the clear horizon. But a few minutes before this one might have seen, high in the east, purple streaks of clouds, changing quickly to crimson or scarlet, then the sun, like a huge blood orange, dyeing the rippling sea.
At night the descent was just as sudden, but my pen would fail did I try to describe the evanescent beauty of those glorious sunsets.
Light and sunshine are ever lovely; so is colour; but here was light and colour co-mingled in a transformation scene so grand, so vast, that it struck the heart of the beholder with a species of wonder not unmixed with awe. And the beholders were usually silent. Then all night long in the west played the silent lightning, bringing into shape and form many a rock-like, tower-like cloud. It was behind these clouds of the night that this tropical lightning played and danced and shimmered.
Then at times they came into a sea of phosphorescent light. It was seen all around, but brighter where the vessel raised ripples along the quarter. It dropped like fire from her bows, ay, and even great fishes could be seen – sharks in all probability – sinking down, down, down into the sea’s dark depths, like fishes of fire, till at last they were visible only like little balls of light, speedily to be extinguished.
About this latitude flying gurnets leapt on board by the score on some nights, and a delightful addition indeed did they prove to the matutinal menu. Sometimes a huge octopus would be seen in the phosphorescent sea. It is the devil-fish of the tropics, and, with his awful head and arms, so abhorrent and nightmarish was the sight that it could not be beheld without a shudder.
The Pacific Ocean! Yes, truly, very often pacific enough; so much so that with ordinary luck one might sail across its waters in a dinghy boat. But there are times when some portions of it are swept by terrific circular storms. Ah! happy is the ship that, overtaken by one of these, can manage to keep well out and away from its vortex.
One evening the sun went down amidst a chaos of dark and threatening clouds, from which thunder was occasionally heard like the sound of distant artillery, but muttering, and more prolonged. The glass went tumbling down. Captain Dickson had never seen it so low. The wind too had failed, and before sunset the sea lay all around them, a greasy glitter on its surface like mercury, with here and there the fin of a basking shark appearing on the surface. Even the air was stifling, sickening almost, as if the foetus of the ocean’s slimy depths had been stirred up and risen to the surface.
All sail was speedily taken in, and by the aid of oil, the fires were quickly roaring hot beneath the boilers.
Higher and higher rose that bank of clouds, darkening the sky. Then —
“The upper air burst into life! And a hundred fire flags sheen;To and fro they were hurried about,And to and fro, and in and out, The wan stars danced between.”Chapter Sixteen.
Shipwreck – The White Queen of the Isle of Flowers
To and fro, to and fro, on the quarter-deck walked the imperturbable Yankee, Mr Hall, quietly pulling at his huge cigar. He had seen the ladies, and had told them straight that it was to be a fearful storm, and now he would wait to see what Fate had in store for them.
But more impatient far was Captain Dickson. Would steam never be got up? He had an idea which way the storm would come, and he wanted to steam southwards, and as much out of its track as possible.
At last the steam begins to roar, and now the screw revolves, and the good ship cleaves its way through the darkness of sky and sea. Dickson is somewhat relieved. He puts two men to the wheel, and sailors lash them to it. Well Dickson knows that the storm will be a fearful one.
Who is this fluttering up along the deck? A little dot all in white – nothing on but a night-dress. Matty, of course.
“I lunned away,” she explained, “and tomed (came up) to see the lightnin’s flash.”
“Oh, my darling!” cried Reginald, “you must come with me at once!”
He picked the little fairy up, and quickly had her safely below again.
The men were busy battening down when he returned to deck. Here and there along the bulwarks loose ropes were left that the men, if needful, might lash themselves to the rigging.
But now the rain began to come down, first in scattered drops, then in a hot and awful torrent. Louder and louder roared the thunder, brighter and still more vivid flashed the lightning. The thunder-claps followed the lightning so quickly that Dickson knew it was very near.
“Lash yourselves, lads!” the skipper roared through the speaking-trumpet. “She is coming!”
Ah! come she did. And no shoreman can ever tell what the vehemence of a circular hurricane like this sweeping across the ocean is like in strength and vehemence.
Dickson had just time to shout, “The first shock will be the strongest, boys,” when the terrible storm burst upon the doomed ship with a violence indescribable, and a noise like a hundred great guns fired at once.
Thrown at first almost on her beam-ends, she soon righted, and now she was tossed about like a cork. High up on a mighty wave at one moment, down in a dark gulf the next. The foam of the breaking waters and the incessant lightning was the only light they had, and in this glare the faces of the crew looked blue and ghastly.
Bravely did the men stick to the wheel. Hall himself had gone early below to comfort the ladies. Yet, although the waves and spray were making a clean breach over the ship, luckily she was well battened down, and it was dry below. The seas that tumbled inboard were hot and seething.
Mr Hall prevailed upon his wife and daughter to lie down on the lockers, or couches, and to these he did his best to lash them; but so great was the uncertain motion, that he had to clutch with one hand to the table while he did so.
The air down below was as hot as the waters on deck; hot and sulphurous, so that the perspiration stood on the brows of all below. It was indeed a fearful storm.
But it lulled at last, though two men had been called to their account – swept overboard in the clutches of a great green sea.
It lulled; but the intensity of the pitchy darkness still continued. It was no longer a circular storm, but a gale, settling down to less than half a gale towards the commencement of the morning watch. But the binnacle had been washed away, and the men were steering only by blind chance.
Just as daylight, grey and gloomy, began to appear in the east, an awful tell-tale rasping was heard beneath the keel of the Wolverine, and almost at once two of her masts went by the board.
“Axes, men!” cried Dickson – “axes, and clear away the wreck!”
It was a dangerous and difficult task, with every now and then a huge sea rushing in from astern, and all but sweeping the decks.
Daylight came in quickly now, though clouds seemingly a mile in depth obscured the sun, and the horizon was close on board of them all around.
But yonder, looming through the mist, was a coral shore, with huge rugged, and apparently volcanic, mountains rising behind it. Fearing she would soon break up, Captain Dickson determined to lower a boat at all hazards, manned by four of his strongest and best sailors. In this Hall begged that his wife might go with the maid, and the request was granted. Mr Hall watched that boat as she rose and fell on the troubled waters with the greatest anxiety and dread. Suddenly he staggered and clutched the rigging, and his eyes seemed starting from his head.
“Oh, my God! my God!” he cried. “My wife! my wife!”
For a bigger wave than any, a huge breaker or bore, in fact came rushing from seawards and engulfed the unfortunate boat.
And she was never seen, nor anyone who had gone in her. The crew and poor Mrs Hall, with her maid, now —
“Lie where pearls lie deep,Yet none o’er their low bed may weep.”Mr Hall was led below by the kind-hearted captain himself, and threw himself on a couch in an agony of grief. Dickson forced him to take a large stimulant, and put a man to watch him, fearing he might rush on deck and pitch himself into the sea.
As to their whereabouts, or the latitude and longitude of that strange, wild island, Dickson knew nothing. He had many times and oft sailed these seas, and was certain he had never seen those lofty peaks and rugged hills before. Although the wind continued, and the keel was breaking up, although she was fast making water below, he determined to hang on to her as long as possible, for there was a probability that the storm might soon die away.
Some of the crew, however, grew impatient at last, and, in spite of threats, lowered another boat, into which crowded six men.
Alas! they, too, went down before they were many yards from the wreck.
But see these figures now flitting up and down on the coral sands! And, strangest sight of all, there is among those dusky, almost naked savages, the tall and commanding figure of a white woman, dressed in skins. The savages are evidently obeying her slightest behest, for a queen she is.
With ropes of grass they are stoutly binding together three large canoes, flanked by outriggers, thus forming a kind of wide raft. Then these are launched, and right rapidly do the paddles flash and drip and ply, as the triple craft nears the ship. The raft seems to come through the seas rather than over them, but busy hands are baling, and, by the time this strange construction arrives on the lee bow, the canoes are free of water.
The Wolverine has but few on board her now, only eight men of the crew, with the officers, little Matty, Hall, and Miss Hall. These latter are lowered first, with three men. They are safely landed through the surf, and Dickson can see the strange white woman advance towards them with outstretched arms.
The raft comes back again, and all on board are now taken off, Captain Dickson being the last to leave the doomed ship.
Oscar, the grand Newfoundland, prefers to swim. No terrors have the waves or surf for him, and he is on shore barking joyfully as he races up and down the beach long before the raft rasps upon the silver sands.
The strange, skin-dressed lady met them. She was English, and dubbed herself Queen of the Isle of Flowers.
“For ten long years,” she told Captain Dickson, “I have been here, and yours is the first ship I have seen. But come to my house behind the hills, and I will tell you my strange story later on.”
Though drenched to the skin, they all most gladly followed the Queen, up glens, and by zigzag paths, and over wild hills, till at last they came to one of the wildest and most beautiful valleys these adventurers had ever beheld. Now they could understand how the Queen had named it the Isle of Flowers.
A beautiful stream went meandering through the valley with every species of tropical or semi-tropical flowering trees it is possible to imagine growing on its banks. No wonder that Matty, whom Reginald carried in his strong arms, cried:
“Oh, doc, dear, zis (this) is surely fairyland! Oh, doc, I’se dizzy wi’ beauty!”
“Hurry on,” said the Queen; “a keen wind is blowing on this hilltop.”
In the midst of a forest of magnolias that scented the air all around, they found the road that led to the Queen’s palace. A long, low building it was, and seemingly comfortable; but the path that led to it was bordered on each side with human skulls placed upon poles.
Noticing Dickson’s look of horror, she smiled.
“These are the skulls of our enemies – a tribe that in war canoes visited our island a few years ago, but never found their way back. My people insisted on placing those horrid relics there. Had I refused my permission, I should have been deposed, probably even slain.”
Into one room she showed the ladies, the officers and few remaining men into another. Here were couches all around, with comfortable mats of grass, and on these, tired and weary, everyone lay and many slept, till their garments were dried in the sun by the Queen’s servants.
It was afternoon now, but the wind had lulled, and soon it was night, clear and starry. The vessel had gone on shore at low tide, but some time during the middle watch a great wave had lifted her and thrown her on her beam-ends high up on the coral sands.
Next morning, when Dickson and Reginald went over the hills, after a hearty breakfast of roast yams and delicious fish, they found that the sea had receded so far that they could walk around the wreck on the dry sand.
That day was spent – with the assistance of the Queen’s special servants – in saving from the vessel everything of value, especially stores, and the ship’s instruments.
Casks of rum and flour, casks of beans, and even butter, with nearly all the bedding and clothes. These latter were spread on the beach to dry. Inland, to the Queen’s mansion, everything else was borne on litters.
But the greatest “save” of all was the arms and ammunition, to say nothing of tools of every description, and canvas wherewith good tents might be built later on.
When all was secured that could be secured, and the remainder of the crew had joined them —
“Men,” said Dickson, “let us pray.”
Down on the coral strand knelt the shipwrecked men, while, with eyes streaming with tears, Captain Dickson prayed as perhaps he had never prayed before, to that Heavenly Father who had spared the lives of those before him.
The natives stood aside wonderingly, but they listened intently and earnestly when, led by their captain, the mariners sang a portion of that beautiful psalm:
“God is our refuge and our strength, In straits a present aid;Therefore, although the earth remove, We will not be afraid.”Chapter Seventeen.
Crusoes on the Island of Flowers – a Threatened Armada
For weeks and weeks mourned poor Hall for his wife; for weeks and weeks mourned he. He was like Rachel weeping for her children, who would not be comforted “because they were not.”
But the anguish of his grief toned down at last. His sorrow was deep still, but he could listen now to the consolations that Dickson never forgot to give him morn, noon, and night.
“Ah, well,” he said at last, “I shall meet her again in the Bright Beyond, where farewells are never said, where partings are unknown. That thought must be my solace.”
And this thought did console both him and Ilda, his daughter. As for Matty, she was too young to know what grief really was, and romped with Reginald’s dog in the Queen’s beautiful gardens, just as she had done on board the unfortunate yacht – now, alas! a yacht no more.
But busy weeks these had been for the shipwrecked mariners. Yet far from unhappy. They were Crusoes now to all intents and purposes, and acting like Crusoes, having saved all the interior stores, etc, that they could, knowing well that the very next storm would not leave a timber of the poor Wolverine. So at every low tide they laboured at breaking her up. At high tide they worked equally energetically in building a wooden house on a bit of tableland, that was easy of access, and could not be reached by a tide, however high.
The house was very strong, for the very best wood in the ship was used. Moreover, its back was close to the straight and beetling mountain cliff.
The six men of the crew that were saved worked like New Hollanders, as sailors say. The house had sturdy doors, and the vessel’s windows were transhipped. But this wooden house did not actually touch the ground, but was built on two-foot high stone supports. Soot could be strewn around them, and the white ants thus kept at bay. Stone, or rather scoria, steps led up to the dwelling, one end of which was to be not only the sleeping-place of the men, but a kind of recreation-room as well, for Dickson had succeeded in saving even the piano and violins. The other room to the right was not so large, but, being furnished from the saloon of the Wolverine, was almost elegant, and when complete was always decorated and gay with lovely wildflowers. Indeed, all the flowers here were wild.
The Queen had begged that Miss Hall and wee Matty might sleep at the palace. This was agreed to; but to luncheon not only they but the Queen herself came over every fine day, and the days were nearly all fine.
One day a big storm blew and howled around the rocky mountain peaks. It increased in violence towards evening, and raged all night. Next day scarcely a timber of the wrecked yacht was to be seen, save a few spars that the tempest had cast up on the white and coralline beach.